The Tower was quiet.
It wasn't the silence of emptiness, nor the silence of a held breath before a scream. It was a new kind of silence—warm, lived-in, and fragile.
It had been three weeks since the Reeds had been escorted out. Three weeks since the penthouse had stopped feeling like a bunker and started feeling like a home.
Emily sat on the rug in front of the fireplace, sorting through archival boxes of pack history that Beatrice had sent over. The fire crackled softly, casting a golden glow on the room.
Across from her, Ethan was working on his laptop. Every few minutes, he would stop typing and just look at her. His gaze wasn't the predatory stare of the Alpha anymore; it was something heavier, deeper. It was the look of a man who had found his center of life.
"You are staring aga
